


The Oath

by Moonfireflight



Series: The Abyssal Celebrant [6]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: 5.0 spoilers, Ascians (Final Fantasy XIV), But in a sexy way, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Making things up as I go, Mild dubcon i suppose, Multi, POV Second Person, Ritual Sex, Tempering (Final Fantasy XIV), a bit of mindfuckery, a smattering of fun echo scenes, background Lahabrea x Igeyorhm, background wol x Igeyorhm, cast off that mortal form and join the fun, it comes with a free wardrobe upgrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:54:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25834582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonfireflight/pseuds/Moonfireflight
Summary: I've been working on this here and there for months, but I was possessed by the urge to finally finish it before 5.3 drops and torpedoes whatever I have going on here.In short, the Warrior of Light is not yet wholly trusted by some of the Ascians, despite swearing herself to their cause. A more formal oath is required...... which is a thinly veiled excuse to write Elidibus merging with Zodiark and lovingly tempering you, the reader~ Enjoy!Edit: Trying to remember to capitalise He and Him etc in this was a pain. Fixing what I spot here and thereEdit 2: Again, please remember I wrote this before 5.3. Now I just want to gently hold Elidibus T_T
Relationships: Elidibus/Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Lahabrea/Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Warrior of Light/Zodiark (Final Fantasy XIV)
Series: The Abyssal Celebrant [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1601428
Kudos: 35





	The Oath

The cold weight in her heart is not jealousy. 

That particular set of nerves had long burned out, buried now in a distant past neither of them fully remember, albeit for different reasons. 

Snow crunches under her boots and howling winds threaten to whip her hood back. They are the only sounds in this desolate stretch of Coerthas. It is a soothing cadence she wills her mind to sync with instead of flailing about tumultuously. 

It’s not jealousy. The man he is now is a bitter, muddled reflection of who he used to be. He’s just as brash as they accuse her of being, no longer the counterweight to her impulsivity at times - no longer the voice of reason reining her in, or encouraging her when he recognized that her ire was pointed in a productive direction, as he liked to say. Yet, there are moments when her fragmented soul catches a glimpse of the glory she once stood toe to toe with, when he burns so brightly it’s a wonder the star doesn’t catch fire. 

Though she denies it, except in moments like this, alone with the elements, she’s changed too. The ruin of the Thirteenth weighs heavy on her, driving her sometimes to levels of cautious calculation that grate on her. Every damned thing she does needs to be perfect and that pressure has been eroding her patience for centuries. 

What other word is there though, for this foul, slushy mire settling deeper with every step? When she pokes at it, it carries the bitter taste she hates so much - fear. Mortals are fickle things, and he’s entrusted so much to this one. Their history. His healing. It’s enough that she cannot focus on her duties. Lack of focus means failure, and she’ll not have that happen again. 

She paces in the middle of a lake, an unbroken sheet of pure ice upon which each step rings out. Beneath her feet she catches a glimpse of her reflection, and notes the loss of the fire in her eyes. It’s unacceptable. No, no more skulking. Before this drives her to catastrophic distraction, she will take action. 

Her next step takes her through a summoned portal, a moment of nothingness between the freezing winds of Coerthas and an almost intolerable swelter. Cozy, frivolous. How can he stand this place? Who is he now? 

Questions for another time, thinks Igeyorhm, launching her first magical volley the second her eyes meet her target. 

***

The hair on your arms prickles, prompting you to set your book aside and reach out with your aether. You catch the signs of a portal about to open, but it tastes different from those created by the Ascians you’ve met thus far. Either instinct or fear, you aren’t certain which, flares brightly in your chest and, without a second thought, you summon your familiar. In your next breath, a portal tears open and an Ascian steps forth, weightless and elegant as they pause in mid air. They scan the room and when they lock their eyes on you an unfamiliar glyph flares. Bitterly cold aether condenses in the air and you roll out of the way as magical energy lances past you. 

A glance in your periphery shows your gargoyle pinned to the floor by a needle sharp spear of ice, and he quickly dissipates. Other similar spears pierce the floor and walls. 

Whoever this is, they want a fight, and you don’t wish to see your home destroyed for it. Unfortunately they are blocking the front door, so the basement it is. The tingle of freezing aether in the air tells you your opponent is gathering might for another spell so you launch a volley of dark bolts at their chest before diving down the stairs two at a time. 

With a thought, your gargoyle is back at your side, though he gives you a distressed squawk. “It will be fine. We’ve got the advantage down here and we just have to hold off until…”

You’re interrupted by a wave of frozen stalagmites that cascade down the stairs and toward you. You dodge again, though one spears through the hem of your robes. With your next cast, you jerk to the side, tearing yourself free and unleashing a wall of black fire. The pitchy flames flicker sickly, but fully block the only way into this room. 

“Have you learned nothing, mortal?” The darkly feminine voice comes from behind you and you wheel around just in time to take a chunk of ice straight to your chest, staggering you. Your gargoyle shoots past, aiming a barrage of purple-black beams at your attacker. It seems to do little damage to her, but serves to distract her long enough for you to get off another volley. You condense all of your rage and fuse it with the new well of mana that flows freely within you now, and unleash a hellish torrent of fire. 

Flames roar through the room, cascading over her form, the heat almost unbearable. Somewhere beyond the smoke and steam you hear… laughing. Your earlier bravado leaves you as that sound instantly sets your mind and body in harmony with one message -  _ run. _

You bolt up the stairs, and it’s only as your boot slips out from under you that you recall she had coated them in ice only moments ago. The world slows around you so that you barely feel it when your hip collides with one stair, and your shoulder another, and you crash back to the basement floor hitting several more on your way down. Your right hand flares with white-hot pain, and several other parts of your body chime in at once, and you’re curled up on the floor with nothing listening to you when you scream at it to  _ move _ . An indignant screech signifies your gargoyle being dispersed once more. “Why… attack me? I’m on your side,” you manage between ragged breaths. 

“So you say, but the words of a mortal mean nothing. What do you know of eternity?” 

“I don’t…,”

Another portal opens and you let the tears you’ve been choking back flow. He’s here.

“What is the meaning of this?!” 

That would be nice to know, yes, you think. 

“You! So much faith you’ve put in this mortal woman and she can’t even defend herself?! This has gone far beyond stopping her from interfering with us.”

Lahabrea snarls back, “I am aware of that, and I’ll not apologize!” 

“Old fool, I’m not here to tell you your feelings are folly. She has knowledge that could put us at risk, and you’ve taught her our magicks. Without the curse of light, she is susceptible now to Primal influence - tempering. And what if she walks away and uses this knowledge against us?”   
  
“And what are you implying? Are you not aware that she was one of Zodiark’s supporters before the sundering?”

The other Ascian draws close, giving you a better look at her strange mask. It covers even her mouth with the spearlike lower point, making her impossible to read, other than what her aggressive tone implies. Though even that is tempered with obvious concern.

“She must swear an oath. Though she’s cast out the loathsome taint of Hydaelyn, she must join us at Zodiark’s hand in this life as well.” 

A horrible throbbing in your skull drives you to your knees, hands pressed to your temples, half sure your head will split open otherwise. Your vision darkens, then is replaced by an altogether different scene as the echo takes over. 

_ The long hallway of black marble rings out with her hurried footfalls. She’d wanted him back home again but not like this… The hallway shook once more with a monstrous roar that she felt down to her bones, spurring her into a full on run. A small furry creature darted in front of her, making her dodge at the last second. ‘Cats’ he calls them. Amusing things, but with a knack for getting under one’s boots.  _

_ Excited and worried murmurings tell her she’s finally there. She screeches to a stop, drawing concerned looks from the crowd. “Well done, everyone,” croaks out the man at the head of the room, his breathing ragged. “If anyone has ideas on how we may study this creature safely, please let myself or another instructor know immediately. Learning its nature may be the key to protecting our home.”  _

_ Her eyes burn with the ache of holding back tears. He's pretending to be strong, but she can see his knees quake and the way his back bends. As more of his audience focuses their attention beyond him, he finally turns around to meet her gaze, and every muscle in her body clenches. “I will be fine. I swear, it’s nothing,” he says, holding up a hand in an attempt at a soothing gesture.  _

_ Nothing. Apparently the great tears in his robes that reveal bloody gashes beneath are nothing. Nothing but being nearly mauled by the beast he’d traveled across the sea to apprehend. Her head throbs and red creeps into her vision. There’s no stopping it once it starts even though she knows she should be more professional but damn decorum! “Get out!” Striding into the room, her arms slash through the air as she chases the hapless crowd of students from the room. “Leave us!”  _

_ As the last one flees, quietly closing the door behind them, even the faint click it makes sets her teeth on edge. When she turns back to Lahabrea, ragged robes and tired eyes, he gives her a small smile. Part of her wants to slap it right off his face, but his smiles have a knack for pulling her out of her rare rages. The name she utters is not his title - it’s a habit she’s never been able to completely break. His name comes too easily to her lips. _

_ “It is good to see you too, Igeyorhm,” he says with a weary chuckle.  _

_ She’s already at his side, at a loss because she wants to throw her arms around him, but despite his denials, his injuries are too grave to risk it. He gives vague protestations as she guides him to sit down, and conjures the items she needs to clean and bandage his wounds. In contrast to her earlier anger, she’s infinitely delicate, treating him as if he may break under her touch. Perhaps he might. He ignores the needs of his body as if he’s not one of the most vital people to the star, and to her.  _

_ He’s never comfortable with being openly affectionate anywhere but in one of their private domains, but if he can survive an assault from a terrible beast, he can handle one kiss. For once, he doesn’t push her away. There’s an urgency in the way he clings to her arms just shy of an actual embrace. She reads tension in every ilm of his body, and soon he begins to shake against her. “What is it? What troubles you so?” _

_ Tears run down his face, following age lines that have grown more pronounced in his absence. His eyes are dull, hopeless. “I don’t think… I don’t think I can save us. The devastation we encountered across the sea was absolute. It’s…,” he trails off, burying his face in her robes. _

_ “No. We’ll all find an answer together. I swear it.”  _

You blink to shake the vision away, finding your lashes cold with clinging tears. “What…?” 

Familiar warmth surrounds you - Lahabrea is at your side. As memories from before your echo vision return, your body jolts and you try to stand, but Lahabrea firmly pulls you back down with him. “You’re safe. She’s gone and will trouble you no more.” 

There’s a hesitation in his voice that doesn’t calm you as he intends. “I saw… a scene of the two of you, before the Sundering.” 

"Hmm. Then I am at a loss this time. I fear you know more of my past than I.”

You could simply keep quiet about it and not risk opening up old wounds… or dredging up memories that might make him realize being with you was a  _ mistake _ . Icy fingers curl around your heart at the thought of losing him, pulling you down into a well of darkness that whispers ‘ _ but what are you? Only a mortal. Only a blink of an eye to him. _ ’ With a deep breath you steel yourself, leaning into the heat radiating from his form. “She loved you. I felt it in her worry for you… and the way she kissed you.” 

His hold on you tightens, but he does not reply. You remain silent as well, letting him work through the tangled knots of his soul. As tempting as it was to leave this be, you couldn’t live with yourself if you’d lied to him. You willed the ice to melt as you savored this moment in his embrace on the terrible chance it would be your last with him. 

“I don’t recall...,” he says, voice sounding distant as if he were still lost in the woods of his mind. “Yet this knowledge does shed some light on the last many years, perhaps. She must think me a blind idiot.” 

With a shake of your head you quietly reply, “Impossible. I felt the ferocity of her attacks against me. Without a doubt, her feelings are still strong.” 

Lahabrea chuckles. “Dearheart, there is nothing that she does  _ not  _ feel strongly about. She has ever been a force of nature. No doubt you wonder why she attacked you and if it relates to the vision that overtook you.” You nod. “Perhaps it does, but not in the way that you fear. She argues that the knowledge I’ve imparted to you poses a risk were you to be subject to a Primal’s influence. And, while I harbor no fears that you mean us ill will, there are others who  _ fret _ about it, who dare to say I’ve been…  _ careless _ .” 

“What can I do to prove myself, then? I’ll submit to…”

His voice is pure steel when he cuts you off. “Have care with your words. You know not what you are offering to sacrifice.” He holds a hand up to his temple and winces, his eyes shut tight. “And yet…,” he continues, voice devoid of his usual passion. “There is a certain logic to her suggestion.”

On instinct, you reach out to his soul, fearing an impostor, so quick was the change that overtook him. He’s still there, that ageless darkness you adore, that is only him. Yet at the center of him there pulses something  _ other _ . You’ve sensed it before, but thought it part of Lahabrea. Now you can just make out another form, coruscating purples flashing through a shape that brings to mind the ‘wings’ and halo on the back of his robes. 

A voice comes to you - you hear it as Lahabrea’s, muffled as you sink further down and away from your mundane senses. At the same time, the words echo through your aether from every direction, soothing in their cadence. “Do not be afraid.” 

Those words so intoned swell within and through you and despite the request, you feel bile rise in your throat. You’ve never felt so small, so vulnerable, even in the face of Lahabrea’s true essence. The winged form is closer now, and you feel yourself being pulled towards it, towards… Him, for this vast presence can be none other than Zodiark. 

Swirling purples, stars and stellar structures you have no name for spiral within His crystalline form. As you watch the celestial sea dance its silent waltz, the sharp edges of your fear erode away, leaving you feeling… fuzzy. Your lips move, seemingly far far away. “There is a certain logic to this suggestion… yes,” says a voice that is yours and not yours. “A wisdom to it.” 

Though the words came not from you - hells, you hardly know what they mean - they feel so right on your lips. That distant impression you have of your body is weightless, nigh euphoric, so you nod in deference to the being before you as it fades back into darkness eternal. You pour yourself once more into your physical body, immersed in a warm, tingling shroud of delight. A word drips off your tongue - “Yes…,” as reality again flares around you, centered on crimson wreathed in gold. 

And you reach for him, drawn by a need to satisfy the bodily cravings this lightness has stirred. Yet it is so much more - urges, compulsions, to flow into him and to be filled in turn, as if returning to your source, to equilibrium. The unknown substance of his mask warms quickly as if reacting to your touch. Your fingers glide over the familiar curve of his brow, the hollow under one eye. Though you know every dip and crest by heart, what courses through you fuels your exploration anew. You rest your forehead against his, finding that comfortable spot between chiseled ridges as you breathe him in. Lightning, ash, and spice fill your head, coaxing you down from those heady heights to ground you in the earthly reality of your increasingly tangled bodies. 

Fearing that a pause to suggest moving this upstairs would break the spell, you instead guide him over to the now-singed rug. Your eyes linger on his lips as you trace the edges of his mask, along the lines where its fanged form meets engendered flesh. Staying your hand for a moment, he casts away that visage. Eager for more contact, you ghost your fingers over his temples, his cheeks, finding no sign of tenderness or discomfort from where the mask had lain. Lahabrea still wore it more often than not so you take these rare moments to drink in his fine features - that endearing upturned nose, and the light in his sharp eyes as he fixes you with a bemused smile. “Not so long ago you were fighting for your life, and now here you are doting on me shamelessly. You mortals move so quickly.” There is no malice in his words, only fond curiosity.

“Our lives are short and uncertain. Today reminded me of that fact, and of how unlikely our union is. I know you can tell me no more of what tomorrow may bring, so let me simply revel in what I have before me, hmm?” 

If he finds your sudden ardor strange, you know not, for he gives you an indulgent smile before falling upon you. Without a word, your souls meet and twine in the scant space between your bodies before they too converge. No longer does your focus feel torn between the shared realm you’ve crafted together and physical sensation as it once did moons ago. Now the two blend seamlessly, each bringing unique sensations, flavors, to these secret moments. His aether washes over you, seeking as he helps you undress and lets his robes slip away, rolling through you in waves when his hips meet yours. Those tides do not subsume you - rather you meet as near equals, your own aetheric form rising to curl around Lahabrea’s. 

You part beneath him and he fills you, tentatively at first until he finds your body as ready for him as the rest of you. He radiates liquid heat and satisfaction as you embrace him with every part of your being, submerging yourself into the depths of his vast soul in turn. Falling into each other in long, languid strokes and waves, your mind fills with a contented haze. In this moment, there is no fear - united so, there is no room for dishonesty, for falsehoods. Only two beings who belong to each other. An oath… surrender… Lahabrea brushes his fingers over your sweat-drenched brow, down your cheek, and you imagine him tracing the shape of a mask there and… 

“I want,” you gasp out between slow thrusts. “I would dedicate myself to you and yours in every way. My heart is already yours, my soul…”

Lahabrea’s eyes snap open and his aether shudders around you. “You must be fully sure of this - I cannot speak of that which you must endure to prove yourself, but there is no going back.” 

With your palm pressed to his cheek, you make sure he can’t escape your gaze. “How many thresholds have I already crossed to be with you? So long as I retain my will, so long as enough of me is left to spend the rest of my days like this, I will do it.” 

“You would be less than... this,” he says, gesturing to himself and wincing, “but more than a mortal by far. When one goes through such a thing, they lose much of themselves, but with your soul… Let us say this. I have never been one to be selfish, but were there the scantest chance that you would forget our time together, I would not have it.” 

“Then make me yours, Lahabrea. I will endure anything you ask of me.” 

He answers not in words but through his soul resonating with yours, and the surety of your decision, the finality of it courses through you, igniting your ardor.  _ Yes, _ you call back to him, the word and the fervent pleasure within you reflecting nigh infinitely between you as though caught within a house of mirrors until your names join the chorus as well as you both cry out for each other - falling into each other. It is bliss, earthly and eternal, roaring blood and coiling aether, as you cling to one another and lose yourselves in it’s roiling currents. 

In a flash of darkness, you find yourself in the softness of your bed and Lahabrea’s heated embrace. He holds you as if he fears you might slip away, arms around your waist almost too tight, head pressed to your shoulder. Your breath comes in hitching gasps, frail flesh not meant to contain such heights of bliss. So you reach to the very heart of him instead, filaments of two souls parted long ago and found again entwining.  _ I will not turn back from this - from you.  _

_ I lost you once and chanced to find you in this broken world... _

No words could escape past the lump in your throat as hot tears pour forth, and even words spoken soul to soul could not convey the song your heart wishes to sing - so you craft an image and infuse it with all of your love, your hope, and the miracle of this union - 

Side by side, hand in hand, you gaze at a bustling walkway flanked by magnificent towers. Light pours forth from every window, warm and welcoming. The sky above is crafted of the purest black cloth bedecked with impossibly bright stars. Figures in black robes engage in animated conversation, filling that space with life and magic. This is a world of peace and potential. A world whole once more.

Together, you take a step down that path and cast all doubts aside as you drift off to sleep, entwined in all ways. Two slumbering souls walk tall through that enchanted dreamscape, that promised future. 

You will weather any trial to make it so. 

*****

You sink into the water, it’s penetrating warmth seeping into your muscles, easing away the little tension that remained knotted in your shoulders. In this moment of quiet solitude, you’re left to think about your choice. Steam swirls into faint visions - robed figures in brief scenes of daily life. Here the sweeping gestures of one’s arms tell of a spirited discussion, there a man nods off at his desk as he works. A disturbance in the air sends them running, dispersing the ephemeral scene. There is a sense of loss that follows, a ghost of it settling over your heart. You dip further down to rid yourself of the chill that shivered through the room and drift off.

_ Her friend laughed uproariously at the question. “That’s not fair! I was just curious.” _

_ It seemed like ages before he finally caught his breath and settled enough to talk. “Pray, forgive me! But you ask an impossible question, and one that is usually only asked in jest.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulder as they walked through the crowded hall. “Since it is most obvious that you haven’t been studying Convocation history, I will explain. No one has bothered to define the qualifications for the position because there hasn’t  _ been  _ another Lahabrea, and at this point, everyone assumes there won’t be another. He was and still is the first.”  _

_ “What? Then how old…?” _

_ Her shoulder slump as he shakes with laughter once more. “Oh, ‘Nym. Don’t tell me that of all people in Amaurot, he’s the one you have your heart set on? Well, you and probably a thousand others who fall asleep to his voice, either on the radio or in his lecture hall.”  _

_ “It’s foolish and impossible, I know.” _

_ Their walk takes them into a quieter section of the akadaemia, away from the bustle of hurried students. “Come now. Bring that smile back. For anyone else, I would say ‘yes’. However,  _ they _ aren’t my dearest friend.” His pause is punctuated by him twirling about to face her, raising his arms in a mimicry of gestures all too familiar to her from watching Lahabrea’s recorded speeches. Her cheeks burn as he continues. “You happen to be in the presence of the man in charge of scheduling and assigning assistants to certain important figures around here. The look on your face tells me you understand my words well, hmm?”  _

_ She could only nod dumbly in reply. Despite having been close for decades, she’d never bothered him about his work, though she knew he had his sights on a position in the Convocation himself. Devious as he could be, she knew he showed no favorites, so whatever he had in mind, she would have to earn through hard work and skill.  _

_ “Outstanding. Now, let us devise a plan that shall change your life. I do have a few tricks up my sleeves to grant you more  _ time  _ for your new studies, if that is what you fear.” It was her turn to laugh. Fair or not, his creations had gotten them out of more than a few scrapes when they were in danger of not getting their assignments done before class. “Now, what do you know about phantomology?”  _

A knock at the door pulls you out of your dozy dreaming, and a moment later Lahabrea steps into the steam laden room in his full regalia. “It is time,” he intones. You nod, stretching to coax life back into your limbs and biting back a yawn. As you step out of the bath, he holds up a plain black robe. 

This is it. Once you don that robe and follow him into the rift, things will never be the same. A shiver creeps over you. Though the garment he offers will do nothing to quell your nerves, at least it can remedy the more mundane chills. He wraps the heavy black cloth around you, guiding your arms into the sleeves before cinching it with a loose rope tie. 

His masked expression is unreadable when you step back to glance in the mirror. Somehow you expected more from this moment, but your reflection reveals what might as well be a vision from your recent past - a novice mage on her way to an exam. 

Amid the tangle of emotions in your chest is the faintest whisper of dissent. You’ve agreed to something absolutely insane and there’s still time to turn back. Neither Lahabrea nor the visions of his enigmatic God have given you more than a hint of what to expect, and the possibilities circling through your mind range from familiar ritual initiations to fears and paradoxical hopes for a kind of death and rebirth. Now standing on the precipice, faced with the unknown consequences of your hasty and impassioned decision, you swallow past the lump in your throat. 

When Lahabrea silently proffers his hand, he drops his professional stoicism and gives you a reassuring smile. It is enough to remind you what you are doing this for - For him and his kin, for the whole world, and for love. 

You take a deep breath before linking your fingers with his and stepping into the heavy mists. 

*****

You emerge in a place like nothing you have seen before. Beneath your bare feet is a seemingly endless expanse of purple crystal, neither cold nor warm to the touch. Its translucent surface reveals undulating striations of black, violet, deeper, regal purples. Above is darkness dotted with faint and distant lights, but it weighs too heavily to be a familiar sky. You can’t make out any walls, just darkness at the edges of your vision. There’s a weight to this place that makes you think it is deep underground, yet it feels endless. When you reach out with your arcane senses, the resulting flare of dark aether is overwhelming. That sudden quickening of your heart and a lurching sense of motion forces you to snap your aetherial sight shut.

Several fulms ahead of you the crystal gives way to a pool of liquid that looks for all the world like ink. The gleaming black surface is broken by gently undulating waves, ripples originating from the vast statue at its center. The inanimate figure of Zodiark rises out of the Stygian lake, seemingly made of the same crystal as the ground here but pulsing with lights as though filled with a miniature universe. Arms crossed, He looks down upon you, expression unfathomable. 

You start to turn to look at the rest of this place, or to glimpse the face of your lover, but he may as well be a statue himself for all the give there is when you try to move. His arm is locked with yours, his shoulder pressed against your back. Instinct forces one valiant attempt at pulling yourself free of captivity but Lahabrea whispers, “trust me.” 

You nod in reply and relax somewhat. He or any of the other Ascians could have slain you moons ago if they had wished to, so this temporary captivity must serve a purpose. This, you say to yourself, building a mantra to hold back your nerves, is the path you’ve chosen. 

Given a moment to shake off your initial disorientation, you take in more of your surroundings. Lahabrea’s innate warmth flares, just holding back the chill in the air from overtaking you and giving you an anchor. Though the words are unintelligible, the hushed voices behind you speak in tones of curiosity, shushing each other here and there, yet conversation bubbles up again. 

Some cue you cannot discern causes their chatter to peter out at once, leaving the only remaining sound a deep base throbbing you hadn’t noticed before. You feel it in the soles of your feet and the top of your skull more than hear it. At the edge of the pool you can make out a newly opening rift portal. The change in the air you normally sense before one opens must have been lost in the ambient aether here. 

From the smoky bloom of the portal emerges an Ascian like none other you’ve seen thus far. The figure, clad in white and gold, eschews floating dramatically and steps forward with a certain amount of reserved grace. His mask is crafted with an expression that speaks of curiosity, or perhaps your interpretation of it is colored by the slight tilt of his head when he looks at you. Though you know nothing of him, the air he carries brings the reality of your situation home again and you feel the stirrings of panic in your chest. There is no malice in that gaze, but you feel too small in his presence. 

And Lahabrea must have felt it too, for his soul curls around yours. You take a deep, albeit shaky breath, and send a thrum of appreciation back to him. 

The white-clad Ascian nods to you and turns his attention to the apparent crowd behind you. His voice mirrors the same calm dignity he carries. “We gather here today for the thirteen thousand and eighty third meeting of the Convocation. The reason behind our gathering is truly unprecedented. The woman who stands before us had once been marked by Hydaelyn as a champion. Through the guidance of The Speaker, she has cast off those chains. Now she comes, ready to offer supplication to Zodiark.” 

The crowd murmurs excitedly but ceases when the man raises a hand, palm forward. “Not only this, but I have conferred with Emet-Selch and he has revealed that our dear guest today was known to us in the days when the world was whole. She was a supporter of Zodiark then, so we are pleased to welcome her again. Mnemosyne, you are seen by us. Step forward.” 

Lahabrea releases you slowly so that you do not lose your footing from nerves. You take a deep breath of the aether-heavy air and approach the white-clad Ascian. Something causes your vision to waver, making him hard to look at as ghostly doppelgangers briefly cavort around him. He beckons for you to take another step. Your foot presses against the crystal, and your other follows, leaving you standing at attention. The idea of taking another step doesn’t even enter your mind, yet he holds up a hand to indicate you’re close enough. 

“Very well done. Now rise, Abyssal One. Come forth and lead the ritual once more.” 

Lahabrea places his hands on your shoulders, offering a quick reassuring squeeze. When he speaks, his voice is clear and resonant, filling the mysterious space with its tones. “Thank you, Emissary Elidibus. Before you I bring she who was once known to us as Mnemosyne. Let her not be judged by this single lifetime, for she did not choose to heed the call of the other. Instead, recall her distant past, and know that she comes to us now of her own will, wishing to become one with us.” 

The one you now know as Elidibus clicks his tongue, like a parent correcting their child. “She has heeded the call of Zodiark,” continues Lahabrea, with only a hint of irritation. “To honor Him above all. To forsake this life and this false world, and to strive for the Great Rejoining at  _ His _ side.” Someone behind you whispers a comment which is cut off with a hiss of pain. 

Elidibus’ lips curl in the most minute of smiles as he looks back to you. “Lost one, broken one. The Convocation stands ready to welcome your return.” At his words, the air in the room crackles to life. You can feel souls both familiar and unknown to you brushing up against your own, tingling with curiosity and excitement, crowding you, their voices dripping into your mind. 

_ “The Warrior? Joining us willingly?”  _

_ “Will she really?”  _

_ “Her soul is already stained so beautifully.” _

Elidibus nods and their presence retreats a few paces, but you can still sense them close by. “It begins,” he says simply, but those words unleash a torrent of emotions. This is it. For love, for desire, and for the dreamlike visions of a paradise forgotten, you will accept this, forsaking the false life of this world for a future you may not live to see. 

Though not provided any instruction, your hands find the knot that holds your robe in place, undoing it deftly and without hesitation, letting it fall slack. The chill air of this space finds its way through the heavy folds of fabric, but you do not shiver from it. Lahabrea guides the robe off your shoulders, down your arms, and lets it drop to the ground. 

_ “Lovely…,”  _

_ “She heeds His will so easily!” _

The aether in this chamber rings out like a silent bell. It rattles your bones and reverberates in your skull. Elidibus, resplendent in white and gold, lifts off the ground as you watch in awestruck reverence. He glides a few paces back before alighting on the surface of the black water, sending a slow ripple over the surface in time with the beating of your heart, or… no. You realize the eddies of stars within the countenance of Zodiark dance to the same tune. 

The ripples grow as he descends, and those low lapping waves of pitch stain the edges of his robes. White gives way to expanding blackness as the water builds, or he sinks within it - you can’t tell anymore. All is darkness as the low pulsing ambiance from the vast statue above. Elidibus spreads his arms wide as the inky stains reach the hem of his tunic, an expression of ecstasy. He smiles down at you serenely, or so it seems - Perhaps it’s only the perpetually bemused expression of his mask that makes you think so, or your hope that you will survive this ritual and come out of it greater than the tattered soul that willingly walked into this realm. 

The black liquid is up to his chest now. The eddies that ripple across its surface are too slow, too uniform, to be water, whatever it may be. It glistens like obsidian, staining more of the Emissary’s robes, black veins creeping across his chest, twisting down his sleeves. The effect is distressingly organic, and you can’t tear your eyes from the scene. 

You watch as his gloves seem to shrink and melt into his flesh, replaced by a faint purple glow that matches the edifice behind him. The golden talons he once wore become true claws, one now for each crystalline finger. From beneath the waves emerges a matching amethyst tail, long and thin, ending in a simple point. It skims over the water, making new ripples here and there, hypnotic in its seeking movements. 

That red mask is still in place, gazing down upon you in a mockery of tranquility as fissures of purple crystal extend below it, spreading and growing, down his cheeks, his neck, under what are now tattered remnants of his robes. Only the metal of it remains, and the symbol that graces his chest, now engraved upon stone. He’s more statue than man, though he still moves as though made of lithe flesh. Lights dance behind the eyes of his mask leaving tracers in the air as he moves - vivid violet and so bright, so, so bright, they burn like fire. 

Transformation seemingly complete, the waters recede, fully revealing his form and all you can hear is the pounding of your heart. Your skin prickles and your muscles cry out for you to flee but you are paralyzed before this monster, this… God. “Fear not,” he rumbles in an echoing mockery of language, the sound rolling over your flesh and through it, caressing spaces inside of your chest in a way that leaves your stomach churning. “For you have come to me of your own will.” Blood roars in your ears as you press your hands to them to try to lock out the sound, but it is no use. It carries Elidibus’ stoic cadence but it is the voice of thousands, millions. “I’ll not harm you, broken kindred. I was brought forth now, as always, to mend, to make right.” 

Golden claws shimmer in the faint light, reaching towards you, palms up. Welcoming. Your thighs quake at holding you in place, every cell fighting to run, to stay, to fight, to… give in. 

You were brought here to swear fealty to Lahabrea’s God as only by doing so can you fully belong to him and his kind. Zodiark, Elidibus, both, neither… this grand monster watches, that hint of serenity still there in His smile as fear and hope wage war within your heart in terrible tides. 

Eager souls flutter against yours once more - that’s right - you're not alone here. Behind you stands twelve sets of exquisite black robes, faces obscured by their hoods so that you can’t even make out the masks you’ve become intimately familiar with. But it matters not. 

Here is the wafting incense and smoke of your beloved. There you catch the spice-dusted musk of Nabriales, too. One other tastes of falling snow with the sharp sting of ice, and you know her as the one who drove you to this moment - 

_ It had begun as a debate over something inconsequential, but each volley back and forth grew ever sharper, tinged with welling frustration. Both of you knew that letting your feelings get in the way of such a discussion was inappropriate, but you’re pulled inexorably into venting the unspoken conflict and need the simmered between you.  _

_ Words no longer mattered. They were tradition, farce, excuse - a gesture that might have presaged an attack, deflected, used to pull your opponent into your gravity and you into hers until you’re snarling into her kiss, falling into a tangle of robes.  _

_ The worst kept secret in Amaurot was the occasional tryst in private debate rooms, even if those that borrowed them had no plans as such. There were tells - a certain fire in the eyes, barely restrained passions that even a mask could not hide. When you’d marked your names down, the bookkeeper knew to turn a blind eye to your chosen room for a while. You could neither deny that unspoken accusation, nor the slow churning whirlpool you’d subjected yourself to many a time, dragged under cold waters and left panting on the shore.  _

How deeply your soul was interlaced with their lives… You hate Her ever more for ripping you all from your moorings and casting your souls to the merciless waves. 

No, you aren’t alone. An audience, well known and beloved, bears witness to your failure or your ascension. 

You will not fail. 

Fingers of crystal and gold twine with yours when you raise your hands in acceptance, askance. He smiles down at you and, enticing as that expression is on His graceful lips, it is but a ghost of the overwhelming appreciation that flows from His soul to yours. Your throat tightens, eyes aching with unshed tears - you stand before a God and He observes  _ you _ with deepest reverence. 

You stagger before Him, overwhelmed with relief and adoration, and He pulls you to His chest. Cradled in his warmth - He’s  _ so _ warm, crystalline flesh yielding to your touch as you return the embrace - you feel safe. You feel at home. 

So when His fingers trail down your back, golden talons barely grazing your skin, you tremble with an overwhelming need for more. He fills your mind, your senses. Images whirl through your imagination of this great being and all the glorious and earthly delights you ache for Him to show you. Fingers digging into His back, you try in vain to pull Him closer. His slow exploration of your back does not relent and, more frustratingly, doesn’t seem to react to your obvious need. You burn for Him, feeling empty without Him filling you. At last, you open your mouth to beg Him to take you, and before the words leave your lips, He shushes you gently, breath tickling at your ear, seemingly wending through it. Every ounze of blood in your body screams to  _ let Him in _ . 

Then a strange sensation washes over one of your feet and then the other. It is not cold until it retreats, that thick fluid you… In the war between your desperation and His infuriating composure, you’d not noticed that He’d been walking you towards the pool in the center of the chamber. 

A measure of panic flares within you but it hits a wall, bouncing off harmlessly instead of surging through you. You observe it with a detached interest as the liquid reaches your ankles, your calves, the cascading touches down your back never ceasing. “You’re doing magnificently,” He says, voice as soft as silk, the praise enkindling your desire for Him once more. Your steps slow, perhaps due to how dense the liquid is, or it is His will guiding you, for what unfathomable reason you do not know. 

That burst of fear fades entirely when He sets you down with great care on some unseen shelf within the pool. Here the water laps at your belly, just under your breasts. Those soft waves lull you into further complacency, yet do nothing to dull how badly you want Him to have you there and then before your eager audience. 

Beneath the black water you can see His faintly glowing hands as they rest on your thighs and you sigh from His touch, your lips moving to mouth silent pleas. He drags one hand up out of the liquid, twisting it this way and that, as if showing you how it clings to Him, how slowly it drips. 

You have been attempting to speak again, for He places one finger to your lips. It does less to silence you than to give you a  _ focus _ . Without a thought that your actions could be some terrible breach of protocol, you take His finger into your mouth, wending your tongue around it. And that dark liquid… it is tasteless at first but as it warms to your palate it is honey, ambrosia, and flowers you’ve never known. It is the peace of shade on a blazing day, and the exaltation of a battle won. Here is the vastness of the night sky in all its glory and unknown terrors. It dribbles down your throat, leaving a trail of coating warmth that unites with the longing heat in your belly. 

He smiles at you from behind that mask, and you know He is pleased. Images flood into your mind, muddled up within each other, but the grand sum of it swiftly becomes reality before you can latch on to any one of those lurid scenes. His finger leaves your mouth, weaving a long, wet path down your chest and back under the murky darkness. Hands under your thighs, those talons dotting fine pinpricks along the tender skin there, He guides you to yield to Him. “Will you accept me?” The rumbled words come from Elidibus, from Zodiark, and a million other souls, as He leans into your space, settling between your legs. 

Even if you hadn’t already decided to go through with this ritual, you would have agreed to anything if it meant getting Him to traverse those scant few ilms between separation and satisfaction. “Yes!” And your declaration carries to the far reaches and vast heights, echoed back and joined by a myriad of souls here and beyond. 

Crystalline fingers sweep across your cheek, but the loving gesture is swiftly drowned out by the insistent press of blazing heat at your center. Your focus collapses down to that one point of contact. Slowly, ever so slowly, Zodiark delves into you. Though grateful for his caution as you stretch around his girth, your mind is tenderly overtaken by a haze of pure  _ want _ . You need more of Him, even if it breaks you. You want to fall apart in His hands, melt and merge with Him. At last, He hilts into you and you feel so small against His majesty - pinned like a cherished specimen.

A collective of voices resounds in your mind. “Whose will do you serve?” 

You worry for half a moment - _I don’t know what to say,_ \- but the _correct_ words spill from your lips in an ecstatic rush. “I serve Zodiark, the Will of the Star.” 

Though you know you spoke rightly, you still fret that you’ve disappointed Him, already missing the feel of His cock seated deep inside when he pulls out fully. You’ve but a moment to suffer in emptiness before He answers, “Precisely,” the word punctuating Him  _ driving _ back into you. 

Your breath comes in faint gasps as He impales you over and over, there in that pool of liquid darkness before the crowd of vehement souls. One thought slips into your mind, oozing through your delicious delirium - just as that inky fluid coated his finger, so too must His movements be forcing more of it  _ into you _ . As if to confirm this, He withdraws from you once more before continuing. 

It is impossible not to imagine it seeping into you. What effect could it possibly have… No, this is  _ right _ . He is making things  _ right. _ Fixing an abhorrent  _ lack _ within your being. “Thank you,” you utter, the words separated by a fluttering breath. There  _ is _ something changing within you. 

Though it was subtle at first, one of many blending sensations comes to the forefront - a feeling of falling. You are no longer seated on a ledge in the pool but edging down a slope, held up only by His grace. Inky fluid laps at your breasts and it is almost enough to tip you over that unseen precipice within. You… should panic. You  _ should.  _

...But you don’t. Once more, that instinct for self-preservation tries to grasp you and falters against the torrent of bliss. Once more, Zodiark resumes thrusting into you, making tempestuous ripples in the fluid that surrounds you, now teasing at your collarbones.  _ How have you slipped so far down?  _

His claws comb over your scalp, fingers tangling in your hair. He tips His head back, tensing. You’re close too -  _ close to drowning _ \- your trembling form casting ripples along with his. Minute waves reach your chin now and you long to taste it again. The cavern echoes with your cries, each thrust from this God,  _ your God, _ bringing you closer... closer. Finally, the liquid breaches your lips.

It trickles over your tongue, tasting like little more than water. Yet that decadent, impossible aftertaste hits just as Zodiark, Elidibus, plunges into you one last time, pulsing deep within you. As you tumble over with Him, all-encompassing bliss overtaking you, in your gasping you drink down, breathe, fill yourself in every way with sweetest darkness. 

And you are His. 

There is a time where you are falling through nothing.

No, there are lights in this vast darkness. Pinpricks of flame ignite the sky against a backdrop of stars. 

Harsh blue light intrudes upon this perfect moment, and you feel Her sorrow. She tries to reach to you, but knows you are forever lost now and you exult in Her fading cries. 

...Then time seems to flow in reverse. Shrieking comets grow silent and retreat. The space below you comes to life - a million tiny lights glow from windows in every direction and you  _ feel _ the joy, the limitless creativity of your…

“Welcome home,” calls that voice you know so well - Lahabrea. You fight to pull yourself from that dreamvision, centering yourself with the sounds all around you. A sea of softly gliding fabric. Boots tapping over the living crystal beneath your hands, softly creaking leather. 

You tell your eyes to open, but they do not... The signals you send to your muscles seem to go nowhere or… somewhere below the pool of darkness beyond you and… “Take your time, and your form will follow your will.” 

“Luh…,” his name, so familiar feels foreign on your tongue, caught between another name you should know and the strangeness of relearning how to speak. 

Warmth, on your cheeks. You  _ know _ this sensation, but it is electrified - like nothing you have felt before. You will yourself to see. 

Lahabrea kneels before you, amid a sea of black and gold and silver and white. Nabriales gives you a lopsided grin and brushes a hand over your knee, sending another burst of levin through you, and it is  _ wonderful _ . Igeyorhm pushes him out of the way so she can reach out to you, grasping your hand. Sensation and emotion flow back and forth between you with no barriers, and she smiles too, long lost adoration just shy of embracing you, but not held back either. She tastes of winter frost kept at bay by the heat of a comforting hearth. You feel other souls too - Wind blowing through amaranthine leaves here - the sweetness and pain of golden sun rays - yet another tastes of the salt of the sea.

You know them, each and every one, as you know your own soul. 

Lahabrea begins to stand, his warm hands on your cheeks, guiding you to join him. In moving, you feel the whisk of silken fabric against your legs. You hold your arms out before you - hands clad in leather and tipped with claws, arms graced with ornate silvery points. His soul beams with satisfaction, its black fires warming you, and you send back unbridled love as you’ve not been able to before. 

In thought, he bids you raise your hands, now heavy with a weight you’d not felt there a moment ago. And you know what to do, settling your mask in place for the first time since the accursed sundering. Without seeing it, you know every curve and shape of it as a mirror of your soul. 

At last, you have joined your brethren, your loves, to look, to learn, and to remember for eternity.


End file.
